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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104518">The Secretary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar'>Evandar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Daily Deviant Fics [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Lingerie, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 05:00:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His new assistant is such a good boy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bartemius Crouch Sr./Percy Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Daily Deviant Fics [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1238762</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Secretary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into Русский available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670135">The Secretary</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borsari/pseuds/Borsari">Borsari</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the Daily_Deviant August 2020 prompts of stockings and blow jobs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s such a <i>good</i> boy, his new assistant. Weatherby, Wallesley, whatever his name is. He’s efficient and punctual and very <i>tidy</i>, which is always a good trait to have, and he’s very, <i>very</i> obedient.</p><p>He’s blushing brightly, perched on his desk with his robes hitched up and his legs apart. Quite a contrast to his freckled skin and his bright ginger hair. It’s a good look on him: it makes him appear so <i>uncertain</i>. Fresh from Hogwarts his assistant may be, but he’s been unusually competent since his first day. Like this, he actually looks like the wide-eyed, naïve boy he is.</p><p>“You’re wearing them,” he says, running his finger between soft lace and softer skin.</p><p>“A-as you asked, sir,” Wellby replies. His voice shakes. His pretty cock is hard and leaking in the pastel blue panties he’s wearing, staining the fabric dark where it’s stretched over the head. Around his thighs are lace garters holding up sheer stockings. The whole set had been a present – one of many. He’d watched the boy open it from his desk, had seen him turn white then red, had watched as he bit his lip and shyly nodded his consent. Just as he has with all of the others: the riding crops, the plugs, the lacy, skimpy things.</p><p>His little Wallaby is such a <i>gift</i>.</p><p>He dips his finger between garter and freckled skin once more, rubbing softly. His assistant moans, parting his legs a little more as his hips jerk. An upward glance reveals that the boy is biting his lip again. His blue eyes are dark and lidded, fixed on him.</p><p>He’s so eager to please.</p><p>He slides his hands up to grasp Wimbly’s narrow hips and pulls him closer so that he’s right on the edge of his desk. He pushes those long, lovely legs wider, feeling muscles jump under his palms. He bows his head, rubbing his cheek along one of the boy’s garters. He hears his breath hitch, watches his cock jump and darkness spread on blue silk.</p><p>“Please, sir,” Westby murmurs.</p><p>He chuckles, nosing at that soft inner thigh. He traces a constellation of freckles near Werly’s garter with his tongue, listening to the sweet moan, and sucks a bruise onto the tender flesh. There’s nothing better than having such a filthy <i>tart</i> as an assistant: just as keen to spread their legs as they are to do his filing, and Walsbury is one of the best he’s ever had.</p><p>He licks his way up the boy’s inner thigh, pressing his nose into the bulge of his crotch to breathe in his scent through the silk. He lets his hands linger on the garters, dipping under the lacey fabric to tease the sensitive skin. Windly knows better than to touch him. His legs are shaking with the effort to remain still, and his hands are gripping the edge of the desk hard enough that his knuckles have turned white. So <i>obedient</i>. He rewards the lad, mouthing at his erection through his panties.</p><p>Wildery moans again, head tipping back and hips jerking ever so slightly.</p><p>He allows it. He’s not… ungrateful for Winnerby’s efforts.</p><p>Witherby sighs. He shifts in his grasp as he draws the panties down, freeing his cock. There are freckles here too – freckles <i>everywhere</i>. They’re almost hypnotic; certainly endearing, and he traces the tip of his tongue along a path of them, moving from base to tip. Wenderly gasps as he wraps his lips around the head of the boy’s prick. One hand releases the desk, fluttering briefly between them before Whimsy controls himself enough to use it to cover his mouth. Whenever he’s had the opportunity to have his assistant in a hotel, the boy has always been gratifyingly vocal. He <i>begs</i>, the little slut. In the office, however, discretion is the better part of valour. It would do little for dear Walderbury’s career to be found in such a position, spreading his legs for the promise of a possible promotion. Such a shameful thing he is.</p><p>He hums softy, taking Wibbly deeper into his mouth. He lets his hands wander, stroking his assistant’s legs up and down, following the seams of his stockings. Wesley mewls. His breath hitches, and an upward glance shows the lad blushing furiously, hand over his mouth, blue eyes dark.</p><p>He gives a slow, deliberate suck, pulling back enough to let Westerly’s cock slip from between his lips. It bobs between them, long and slender. Obscene. He has a vague urge to turn Widderley around and bend him over the desk, to spank him for the display. He <i>knows</i> Webberby would enjoy it. But such a thing is for a hotel room and silencing charms, not the office on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s for a place where Wortherly can scream and cry and beg so prettily, where he can fuck the boy without restraint and treat him like the whore he’s proved himself to be.</p><p>He dips his head closer. He sucks Wedley down to the root, pressing his nose into neatly trimmed pubic hair until the need for air has him pulling back. He sucks and swallows, flexing his tongue against the underside of the boy’s shaft, tracing the freckles he knows are there. He’s drowning in the addictive taste of clean skin, salt and musk. He basks in the noises Winbury makes. The aborted cries, the stifled sobs. He’s so <i>sensitive</i>. So very <i>aware</i> of where they are and what will happen to him if they’re found. </p><p>His own cock is hard, straining against the fastenings of his trousers. He ignores it. There will be time for his pleasure later, when the Ministry has gone dark and their colleagues have gone. </p><p>Wellamy <i>does</i> enjoy his overtime.</p><p>He hums at the thought. Withery’s thighs tense under his palms. There’s a soft, broken gasp above him, and he knows that the boy’s close. He draws back to focus his attentions on the head. He furls his tongue around the sensitive tip, scraping lightly with his teeth in a way he knows the boy likes.</p><p>He draws back entirely at the familiar sound of Ludo Bagman’s boisterous tones in the outer office. Walbury is frozen, wide-eyed and paling rapidly in horror. He rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, taking in the debauched picture of his assistant – his cock still hard and wet, jutting out between his thighs; lace-topped stockings clinging to his spread legs. Beautiful, albeit terribly naïve.</p><p>“Compose yourself, Wessalby,” he orders, and a flush rises prettily in the boy’s cheeks once more. He watches as Whummery tucks his cock back into his stained panties, hissing slightly as he touches himself. He watches those glorious legs, still trembling with lust and nerve, vanish under robes. A wave of the lad’s wand returns them to a crisp, pressed state, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose in a nervous sort of gesture.</p><p>“Overtime tonight,” he says, and the lad flushes deeper, an involuntary moan escaping his red-bitten lips.</p><p>“Of course, Mr Crouch,” he says, his voice utterly breathless.</p><p>Barty watches him go. Watches the unconscious sashay of his hips as he moves to grant Bagman entrance; the boy trying desperately to hide his arousal. <i>Such</i> a good assistant. If he performs well tonight, he might have to get him another present.</p>
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